


You Don't Know A Thing About My Sins

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Catholic, Frerard, High School AU, M/M, self-harm tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is a serious Catholic; he plays guitar for the church, and seems to have a Bible permanently attached to his hand. Gerard, on the other hand, is an atheist, and while he by no means hates Catholics, he typically wonders how they can believe in God in such a terrible world. Gerard befriends Frank, and as their friendship grows deeper, Frank shows Gerard a light he's never known. </p><p>WARNING: If you self-harm/are recovering for self-harm or depression, you may not want to read (no scenes describe cutting) but scars and thoughts of depression and suicide are mentioned. If you fit the above description but want to read, please read with caution!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                                                                                               

Chapter One

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on Frank Iero.

But then again, really nobody at the school would. He was a 4’11” freshman with a black Mohawk and bleached sides; he left quite the impression. Perhaps one could take it as a compliment; at least he’s not nondescript, and the interesting hairstyle was certainly a signature trait of his. If you wanted to tell someone about something Frank said or did, you would just say, “The freshman with the Mohawk,” and that person would be either stupid or forgetful if they didn’t know who you were talking about.

I often wonder what my identifier would be. I’m not particularly distinguishable from any other boy in the high school; I work hard at blending in. Now, I know that everyone’s supposed to be a special star or snowflake or some shit, but the thing is, snowflakes melt, and stars burn out and die. Being unique has its price, and it’s a tax that I’m not willing to pay.

I associated Frank with an intriguing hairdo. However, most people used to and continue to refer to him as “Jesus Freak” or “Bible Fucker” mockingly.

You see, Frank is a devout Catholic, and this is frowned upon in our school. Liking God is cool and widely accepted in most circles, but loving him is generally not. No one told Frank this mandate. He wears a cross necklace, which most kids claim makes him a faggot, and plays guitar for the church on South Street.

And on the very first day of freshman year, Frank decided to bring a Bible to school.

He would’ve been fine, had he carried it in his backpack or kept it tuck away in his locker. But either these spaces didn’t have room or he just didn’t have common sense, because he carried that thing with him to all of his classes.

At lunch, these boys began to tease Frank over the whole Bible thing. I was just one table across from Frank (who was sitting alone, incidentally), and witnessed the entire thing.

Frank’s Bible was sitting on the table unsupervised, so one kid took this as permission to snatch it. He dangled the leather book over Frank’s head, crooning,

“Did you bring a Bible to school, Jesus Freak?”

Frank blushes, and mumbles nervously, “I do love Jesus a lot.”

The kid shoves Frank in the chest, demanding, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” With that, he begins to rip out pages from Frank’s Bible.

Frank yelps, and jumps to his feet, trying to take the book back. The other boy restrains Frank, who watches as his precious Bible is torn to bits.

“Quit it! Please!” Frank begs. “It’s a sin to purposely rip a Bible!”

The boy chortles, and so does his friend. “You think I give a fuck about what God wants? God has left us, you little puissant. Don’t you get that? Why do you think 9/11 happened?”

“God has plans for everyone involved in that tragedy,” Frank replies, legitimately confused by the kid’s mistrust in God.

“I hate to tell you, but no, he doesn’t. They all died, and none of them deserved it. What kind of God does that?” the kid challenges.

Frank has no answer, but stands there, eyes vacant. “I… I can’t answer that, but I assure you that you must have faith.”

The kid sneers, “Fuck you and your God.” With that, he rips the Bible once more, and throws it to the ground. Frank is shoved to the floor, and by the time his back make contact with the linoleum, he is crying, hard.

No one is helping him, just all trying to subtly look over and see what’s going on.

Frank’s hands scrape against the floor as he picks up all of the remnants of his Bible, setting them on the table. It’s really pitiful to watch, so I decide to go over and help the poor guy.

I am an atheist myself, so I feel sort of strange picking up the Christian’s sacred text. I shuffle all of the scraps I found together, and place them on the table. I help  Frank to his feet, who sniffles, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Thanks.”

“The pleasure was mine,” I assure. “Do you want me to sit with you?”

“S-sure!” Frank stammers. Y-yeah, go ahead and take a seat.”

I can tell right off the bat that Frank’s social skills aren’t the most polished. He sits there, twiddling his thumbs. Finally, I break the palpable tension by asking,

“So, are you from around here?”

Frank smiles and shakes his head. “I’m actually way from Twin Lakes.”

My jaw drops. “That’s like 20 minutes away!”

Frank shrugs. “I get up pretty early but it’s whatever. I drink a lot of coffee.”

“I think it’s our turn to go eat,” I observe, watching some freshman join the lunch queue.

Frank hops up, skipping over to the line, which elicits judgmental glares from surrounding students. I duck my head and follow, trying to ignore all the eyes in my back.

When Frank and I return to the table, I begin stuffing my face, but Frank does the sign of the cross, and then bows his head, hands clasped and pressed to his forehead.

He’s praying, and everyone’s looking at him. His lips move silently along with his prayer. Finally, he does the sign once more, and begins to eat.

I roll my eyes and shove another forkful of corn into my mouth.

“What church do you go to?” Frank asks.

I cringe; because I’ve met enough Christians to know how Frank will react to the information I’m about to tell him. “I’m actually an atheist.”

Frank’s brow furrows. “Atheist? What’s that?”

I can’t hide my chuckle, and Frank continues to gaze at me earnestly. “It’s… I don’t believe in God, Frank.”

Frank recoils in shock. “Then how do you get through every day?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the whole idea in believing God is that everything we go through happens for a reason; there’s something bigger behind it,” Frank explains. “So how can you go through what you have without any condolence?”

“What do you mean, ‘what I have’?” I snap. My arms and thighs tense, and my wrists tingle. “I haven’t gone through anything; I’m perfectly normal!”

Frank frowns. “Surely you’ve gone through something; everyone has.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I mutter.

“I never said there was,” Frank points out. His eyes trail up my arm, across my scars. He reaches a hand out to touch one, and I flinch.

“I have to go,” I mumble, collecting my things.

And I didn’t see Frank Iero for a week.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I really didn’t want to see Frank again, because I could tell that he was onto me, onto my dark past and present.

I’ve been self-harming for two years. I’d started back in sixth grade, and if I continue to throughout this year, that’ll make it four long years of late night crying, angry journal writing, and using t shirts as makeshift bandages.

I want to get better, I do, which is why I haven’t cut myself for a month. But I’m just so afraid that at any moment I could slip up; because I have before, and it wasn’t pretty.

The next time I see Frank is again at lunch, and I can’t help but be reminded of the first day. Frank is still sitting by himself, perfectly content with this. He spots me and rushes over, no matter how far I bury my head into my hands.

“G-Gerard? Can I talk to you?” Frank asks.

I nod, replying, “Go ahead,” through gritted teeth.

Frank begins, “Look, I don’t know why you’ve been avoiding me. Is it because I’m a loser? Because if that’s it, I totally understand.”

I gaze around at my own vacant table, and gesture towards it to Frank, pointing out, “You really think I’m in any position to call someone a loser?”

“True,” Frank agrees. “I just couldn’t find any other reason as to why you’ve been dodging me in the halls.”

My throat tightens as I struggle to come up with a lie. “I’m… I’m just really shy.”

Frank raises an eyebrow, and he looks at me incredulously. “Shy enough to run away whenever you see me?”

“Well….” I trail off, unable to find my words.

Frank rolls his eyes and sits down, setting his bag on the table. “I’ll take that excuse, but someday, you’re going to tell me the real answer.”

“Deal,” I mumble, crossing my fingers that Frank will forget about the whole truth exchange.

We eat lunch together, and again Frank prays. It’s when almost the entire lunch room is staring at the both of us that I snap at him,

“Do you have to do that?”

Frank ignores me, but just finishes his prayer. He then asks,

“Do what?”

“The whole praying thing! It’s really getting on my nerves!” I retort.

Frank looks hurt. “I…. you being an atheist doesn’t get on _my_ nerves.”

“Yeah, but I don’t practice my atheism in front of everybody!” I point out.

Frank frowns, and squeaks in a small voice, “I always pray before I eat.”

I realize how harsh I’d been, and quickly apologize. “Sorry, Frank; that was mean. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Good, because I’m going to keep doing it whether you like it or not,” Frank responds.

I grin, and I have to respect Frank at that moment. I used to not understand the things that he did or why he did them, but it finally clicks. Frank just doesn’t care. God is important to him, so he’ll pray if that’s what he finds to be suitable, and he doesn’t care what anyone says or what anyone thinks. I’d mistaken his bravery for naivety.

Frank invites me to his house after school, telling, “You know, we can play Chess or something.”

I can’t hide my smirk. “That’s your idea of a fun time?”

Frank nods, not sensing my condescending tone. “Why, did you have anything in mind?”

“We can….” I ponder the idea of what Frank and I could do. “We can sneak into a rated R movie.”

Frank looks disgusted. “I don’t think I want to do that.”

“Well, we can just watch a horror movie at home,” I suggest.

“I’m not really much for horror,” Frank hesitates.

“Well, have you ever seen a scary movie?” I ask.

Frank shakes his head, and seems to know where I’m going with this, as he answers slowly, “Well… no.”

“Then how do you know?” I reason. “Look, if you get too scared, we can always turn it off.”

“Sounds good,” Frank agrees.

I drive him to my house, and Frank is horrified by the disastrous state of my car.

“Gerard, when was the last time you cleaned this out?” he chides, tossing a pair of black boxer briefs to the backseat.

I shrug, admitting, “Probably a year or so.” I turn on the radio, and the car fills with “Breed” by Nirvana, and the heavy drum intro quickly sharpens my senses.

Frank however, sits, transfixed with his eyes glued on the radio. He leans forward, giving me this wide eyed look.

“Do you… want to change the channel?” I guess.

“Sure!” Frank chirps, and promptly switches the radio to the gospel station.

When we arrive at my house, Mikey is sprawled out on the couch, refusing to budge, so I suggest we watch the movie in my room downstairs.

Frank sneers. “You live in a basement?”

“I like it,” I insist. “It’s never too hot in the summer, and it’s bigger than Mikey’s room.”

I lead the way, Frank going down the steps gradually.

“I can’t see very well,” he complains.

I extend my hand backwards, offering, “Take my hand, you big baby.”

Frank pouts but takes my hand nonetheless, and I lead him down the steps much quicker than he would’ve tip toed down them independently.

I turn on the light to my room, and go rooting through my crate of movies.

Frank ambles over to my bed, and sits on it, looking surprised at the loud creak that comes from the box spring.

“My frame’s really old,” I explain, pulling out a few titles.

“I see that,” Frank responds, shifting his weight and causing the bed to give another groan.

“Which do you want to watch?” I question. In my right hand I hold Orphan, and in the left hand The Amityville Horror (The 2005 version of course).

Frank tentatively pokes at the Amityville Horror case, so that’s the move we end up watching.

Things generally go well at first. Frank’s huddled beneath the blankets and shaking most of the time, but he’s not complaining or screaming. But when the first pop out comes, he yelps, and ducks beneath the covers, shouting,

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

I rush over and stop the movie, grinning sheepishly as Frank warily pokes his head from beneath the duvet.

“Aren’t you glad you at least tried it?”

Frank shakes his head. “I dunno.”

I can’t help but smile, and admit, “I guess horror movies aren’t your thing.”

“I’m sorry; I know you really like them,” Frank responds.

I furrow my brows. “Don’t be sorry for not liking the same things I do.”

“I’m sorry,” Frank reiterates.

I chuckle, “Stop apologizing!”

“I’m sorry; it’s an anxiety quirk,” Frank explains.

“You have anxiety?” I ask.

Frank nods. “It used to be real bad, but I’m on medications now, so it’s gotten better.”

We sit there in silence, until Frank finally asks,

“What are these?”

He traces his fingertips up and down my left arm, and I can’t help but cringe visibly. I pull away, replying,

“Don’t worry about those. It’s not your concern.”

Frank frowns, and says softly, “You know, I open up to you all the time. It’d be nice for you to do the same.”

This gives me enough guilt to have me confess,

“These scars…. I made them. On purpose.”

Frank cocks his head. “Why would you do that?”

I shrug. “I really don’t know, I just wasn’t happy, I guess.”

Frank auburn eyes flick to my arm, and then to me. He locks eyes with me as he leans forward, and he turns  my hand over in his. He notes a thick pinkish whitish scar on my wrist, and he asks,

“Did you try to kill yourself?”

I shake my head. “No, I was just upset.”

Frank kisses the scar, and he rubs it with his hand. “Gerard, I believe in a lot of things, selectively, though. I believe that God exists. I believe that our sins our forgiven. But I know, that someday, you will feel okay.”

Tears well up in my eyes, so I look down, whispering, “Thanks.”

Frank hugs, me, and sniffles, “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I should be updating soon. Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I should be updating soon, so in the meantime, check out my other fics!
> 
> This is not the only chapter!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


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